Ronin
by AlSmash
Summary: A loyalty twice-broken is all the stronger when next it heals. A nice sentiment and all, but Kallen wishes that healing could extend to the rest of her—as does the man she takes home for a night, five years after the Demon Emperor's defeat.


**So. This happened. Warning for Adult Situations.**

 **Ronin**

There were many traits to the human condition served to amalgamate into a truly unique species that were made able to create marvels that could challenge the very world they were a part of. Yet to discuss any singular one would be an injustice to each individual trait as they were truly unique in how they _interacted_ with one another to create an idiosyncratic tapestry that had pushed the species so far from their primeval origins.

Yet, if there was one to discuss that maybe how humanity had reached this point, it would be loyalty.

Loyalty was fickle, masquerading as a blessing and a curse. It could incite an individual to truly great things if they were aligned with the right person, or it could leave their entire existence in ashes. Loyalty was its own reward if properly nurtured and cultivated, with the trials and tribulations that forged an individual to greater heights, to be greater than they once was.

Truly, loyalty was the best and worst of humanity, forging a path of creation and destruction.

It was that loyalty that led her to being in a seedy bar, where the haze from the cigarette smoke hung in the air like a foreboding cloud, even as its occupants celebrated the fifth anniversary of the death of the man who she had owed her loyalty to and failed him in his moment of need.

It was loyalty that led her to drinking far more than she should, not enough to lose awareness of both herself and her surroundings , but just enough to dampen the pain and rage that dwelt behind the carefully crafted mask that she donned on a daily basis. It was ironic, in a rather morbid way, that while he had the luxury of being able to hide behind military-grade polymer, she had crafted hers through flesh, sorrow, and fury, becoming a master only through his death.

It was only because of her inability to leave herself vulnerable that she noticed him slip into the bar, wreathed in the smoke of cheap tobacco and shadows of dim lighting. It didn't matter how inconspicuous he tried to make himself, he was doomed to be unable to escape her notice. He froze when his eyes met hers, but he did not quail at the penetrating gaze she bore into him, but that was all he gave, instead meeting it with his own level gaze and a small, almost imperceptible nod.

There was only one reason he would be here, on this day. It was for the very same reason that she was as well. A matter of coincidence that they would meet in the same dingy, shitty bar, yet it did not matter in the least. They were both driven by their loyalty to a man who would forever remain unlamented, scorned by those who could not possibly understand what he had done.

Maybe it was that loyalty that led her motioning him to join her to drink. Maybe it was the fact that she was lonely and she didn't care about their history. Or maybe it was the fact that they were the only ones in this bar privy to one of the greatest charades in history. It made her sick even thinking about it, because it was a charade that _shouldn't_ have been simply because they had failed to stop what he had dedicated himself to do before it was simply too late.

And now they were both modern _ronin_ living only to honor the sacrifice made by the man they had given their loyalty to.

Maybe it was loyalty that caused her to invite him to her booth, barely a word exchanged between the two of them because there was nothing that could be _conveyed_ in a manner that matched the true depth of _emotion_. Instead, they merely spent their time in mutual soul-searching, relying upon the presence of the other in the storm that raged around them for comfort.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was something else. Something that neither could put into words that would adequately describe what had transpired between the two of them in that bar. But when the door shut behind her after she had led him back to her flat, leaving just the two of them alone, was that none of these reasons mattered.

What mattered, as he pinned her against the door she had just closed with his hard body, her lips captured in his, was that nothing mattered. In this sick, twisted world, with nothing left but pain and loss to reward those who were left behind and the fighting never truly stopped.

What transpired between had nothing to do with intimacy and everything to do with raw, primal need. Need to escape that which caused the both of them pain. Need to escape just a few moments of the reality of this shitty existence.

Clothes provided as pitiful a resistance as their enemies had, swiftly divested or in some cases ripped, with skin becoming territory to be claimed and conquered by hands, lips, tongue, or teeth, as they their territory in discoloration and wetness. The sounds of battle embodied via moans and gasps as they tested and probed their counterpart's vulnerabilities before advancing upon those weaknesses. Dominance and cooperation alternating in a chaotic dance only the two of them could understand as a reminiscence of who they had been for what seemed like an eternity ago.

Yet even as they painted a battlefield canvas upon each others skin in bruises, scratches, and teeth marks, it was merely calm before the true battle, as both half-dragged, half-carried the other, unable to break engagement into her room. Neither refused to give ground even as they finally arrived, instead their actions only intensified, as both sought to assert themself as the true victor of this engagement and claim their spoils.

This seemed to go on for an eternity, but in actuality was only moments, before a sort of unspoken peace broke between the two. Velvety wet tightness gave ground to his hardened length as he slowly sheathed himself within her in a way either of them may have found amusing if they weren't both holding a bated breath that was finally released as he seated himself deeply within her. If they weren't both more focused on forgetting who they were at that moment.

Then, as if an unspoken signal was exchanged between the two, they began moving, slowly at first, both upon unfamiliar terrain between the two of them. But that soon gave away as experience granted a familiarity between the two, before evolving into a battle of another kind, one in which one sought to make the other submit and admit defeat. Flesh collided with bruising ferocity, his fingers digging into her hips as he refused to give her any advantage, her protests ringing in his ears even as she countered by running her fingernails over tracts of skin fighting to make him give in return.

What was transpiring between the two of them wasn't simply sex; in a perfect world neither of them would share the carnal bed between them, too different and too set in their ways to be intimate. Too much bad blood shed between the two of them despite their later days. But here, in the shadow of the day, of the pain, the loss, and the sorrow of who they lost, with a healthy amount of inebriation, this was comfort. Where the exaction of pain and abuse upon one another in their mutual misery was a release that neither of them had the ability to ever express, lest they give away the truth of the world. Where they could forget who they simply were for just a moment and _feel_.

But alas, like any battle, despite the intensity of their coupling, it was to be short-lived, as both the alcohol in their bloodstream and the emotions wrought were simply too much for the two of them. With a hoarse groan, he seated himself one last time deep within her even as she wrapped herself around him even tighter, as if he were the very shelter from the storm she sought to escape from, emptying himself within her.

And then it was over, leaving them both with only the aftereffects of their actions, as he rolled himself off of her, bereft of the energy to do anything more. Neither of them said a thing, not wanting to ruin this moment, to bring them back to the damned reality that they lived in. Instead, they allowed their eyes to droop slowly shut, the only exchange between the two of them being the fact of snuggling against one another and enjoying the exhausting haze that carried them away into the arms of a better world, a world administered by Morpheus.

A world in which their loyalty was rewarded.

And when the sun rose tomorrow for Kallen Kōzuki and Jeremiah Gottwald, when reality established itself once again in their lives, loyalty would be all they had left of Lelouch vi Britannia.

And a life as ronin.


End file.
